A Series of Dysfunctional Happenings
by Wisdom Witch
Summary: AU. Peter Kirkland has never had a happy childhood; abhorred by his peers, bullied by his elders, and tormented by his father, Peter has never truly had the opportunity to lead a "normal" life. However, following a disastrous accident, things escalate from bad to worse, and Peter is plunged into a world more dysfunctional than even he had ever known. ACES family, trigger warning.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN! I hope you all had (or are in the process of having) a great day and are guzzling on all the sweets imaginable! This prelude is a little long, but I just felt it right to give a sort of intro. Do enjoy, and remember that all feedback is welcome!**

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 ** Chapter One: The Last Time They Cared**

The first thing Peter Kirkland noticed upon arising from the ground was that it was dark.

Very, very dark.

So dark, in fact, that he had trouble seeing the arms that hung limply at his sides, completely and utterly immobile.

The second thing he noticed was that his head was pounding and his ears, ringing. But that was only to be expected; after all, when one has been knocked unconscious, one is bound to be left with some remnants of the beating.

The third thing Peter noticed was that it was cold; freezing, even, to the point where he could actually _see_ the number of goosebumps that covered his body, in spite of the darkness.

The fourth thing the young adolescent noticed was that he was, quite literally, in the middle of nowhere. He couldn't see a thing, his eyes squinted in a vain attempt at discerning his surroundings. He tried to remember where he'd been before being rendered unconscious, but to no avail. His memory was more than a bit fuzzy, and all that he could remember was that he'd been on his way home when he'd been jumped on.

Peter couldn't quite recall which of the local bullies had attacked him tonight.

He doubted it made any difference.

His brain still pounding fervently inside his cranium, Peter tentatively placed a pallid hand over his temple, digging his fingers in lightly to rub his skin in near-perfect circles. A groan rumbled through his chest before forcing its way up and past his lips, followed by a rather vociferous echo. He took an unsteady step forwards, wobbling slightly as he began hobbling down the pavement, blind to his surroundings.

His legs ached with each step he took, but he remained completely numb to the pain, having long grown accustomed to it. Peter strained his eyes and craned his head up slightly, his shoulders hunched and his hands planted deep inside his pockets as he dragged himself forwards, glancing up a bit upon catching sight of a glare of light.

He'd finally reached the first lamppost.

The dreary walk home was long, not to mention tedious; a gust of wind was stirring and Peter attempted to bury the lower half of his face in his jacket, which reeked of an indiscernible pungent odour. The sky was completely shrouded in clouds, and there was an air of humidity abound, wafting here and there as a warning of sorts.

Sure enough, the first drops of rain began pattering down from up high. The first drop to land on Peter came into contact with the centre of his head, connecting with a harsh splish. Peter all but whimpered at the thought of getting wet, and carried on at a significantly quicker pace, on the verge of breaking out into a jog.

It was only a matter of time before the light rain morphed into a hail storm, pounding on him relentlessly and hurtling towards the ground at such a speed that Peter could do nothing to help getting completely and utterly drenched. He began to run, his trouser legs beginning to stick to the appendages as his feet pattered against the ground. Peter's right foot splashed against a puddle, effectively wetting himself further as he carried on, unable to stop the disgusted noise emerging from the back of his throat.

He stopped, panting, when he reached his neighbourhood, taking a moment to place his hands on his knees and keel over slightly, unperturbed by the rain. He gulped breaths of air greedily, trying to regain his composure as he positioned a cold hand over his side. Peter glanced up blearily, blinking when a raindrop landed in his eye. His unruly, dirty blond hair lay matted against his skin, dampened by the rain, the stray strands clinging to him like bloodsucking leeches as water trickled down his nose and cheeks, which were painted a bright pink due to the cold.

When he'd caught his breath, Peter trudged down the street, his wide eyes scanning for the right house. It took more than he'd like to admit, but the boy soon wound up on his doorstep, soaked from head to toe. He pressed his forefinger on the doorbell and prayed to any existing deity that one of his brothers would answer the door.

Peter hugged himself as he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Until finally his prayer had been answered, and the door opened to reveal a blond adolescent, older than he was, with the same brilliant blue eyes as him. He stared, slack-jawed, at Peter, standing at the doorway with a mobile in possession. His face, odd though it may seem, was lined with worry, his eyes wide behind rimless eyeglasses. Peter opened his mouth to berate his brother for taking so long when said brother threw himself at him, his arms wrapping around the significantly smaller teenager upon contact.

The hug was such a forceful one that it almost knocked Peter backwards and off his feet, all sense of balance gone from his person. His brother didn't say anything, merely ducking his head and burying it in the crook of Peter's neck, his hand flitting up to entangle his fingers within Peter's wet hair, caressing the damp locks soothingly. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that it was raining, and that Peter was drenched in water.

Peter peered past his brother's shoulder, feeling his head graze against his cheek as he murmured, "Al..."

Alfred pulled away, his eyes scanning the bloody bruises that lined Peter's face with unsuppressed worry.

"Good God, Pete..."

Peter avoided his brother's horrified gaze, averting his own so that he wouldn't be forced to look at his face.

"Come on, let's get you inside..." Alfred finally seemed to realise that they were standing out in the rain, and gingerly placed an arm around his younger brother's shoulders, leading him inside and shutting the door behind them as they stepped into the foyer. "God, you're freezing!"

Alfred ushered him inside the living room, seating Peter down on the sofa, watching as the thirteen-year-old insouciantly relaxed against the couch, his hair still dripping wet as a few wayward strands hung limply over his eyes.

Alfred scrutinised him scrupulously through watchful eyes, eyeing him up and down for any trace of discomfort. He clearly had no idea as to what he should do next, a feeling which Peter was all too well acquainted with. He could feel Alfred's burning stare bore holes into his head, and he quickly averted his eyes.

"How long were you out there?"

Alfred broke the awkward silence with an unexpected question, which caught Peter completely off-guard (he'd been expecting something more along the lines of 'What the fuck happened to your face!?').

The thirteen-year-old let his eyelids close over his eyes, refusing to meet Alfred's gaze. His only response was in the form of a single frisson, as a series of erratic tremors coursed through Peter's body.

Alfred eyes widened, "Crap, I forgot! Hang on, I'll get you a towel..."

Peter's eyes remained closed even as Alfred left, and he inhaled slowly through his nose, his chest heaving as his lungs filled with oxygen. He remained in that position, respiring tranquilly as he awaited his brother's arrival.

Soon enough, Alfred returned with towel in hand, flinging it upon Peter's shoulders indelicately as soon as he was close enough. Peter blinked his eyes open, gazing at Alfred questioningly as the older teenager plopped down next to him, rubbing circles on his back in an awkward manner. They stayed like that for a while, with Peter's eyelids fluttering to a close as Alfred continued to rub his back.

"You feeling any better?"

"Mhmm" Peter hummed non-committally, a slight shiver running down his spine as he tugged at the towel.

Alfred stared at him, his worry evident in those sparkling blue eyes of his, indecision present in all his features.

"I-" Alfred started uneasily, his voice faltering under Peter's stare before fading all together. He cleared his throat slightly, "Does it hurt?"

Peter gazed back at him lazily, his eyes droopy as he shook his head in the negative.

Alfred didn't seem convinced, but let the matter drop in favour of querying, "What happened?"

Ah. The dreaded question.

Peter really should have seen it coming.

"Nothing." the younger of the duo murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Nothing?"

Peter shot him a look, before glancing down at his lap and sighing, "I ran into a pole."

Alfred's eyebrow quirked up, "Must have been some pole."

"Yeah..."

Peter could feel Alfred's stare boring holes into his head. He shifted slightly, uncomfortable with the way Alfred was gawking at him.

A sigh, "What really happened, Pete?"

Peter didn't reply immediately, instead taking a sudden great interest in his drying fingers.

"Peter."

"Hmm?" Peter couldn't stop the hum from escaping his lips.

"Answer me."

"I told you."

Alfred's eyebrows knitted together, "I'm serious."

Peter dared a sidewards glance his way, narrowing his eyes slightly, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Peter-"

"I don't." Peter effectively silenced his brother, glaring at him. Alfred merely stared, curiosity mingling with his augmenting worry.

"Did you get into a fight?"

The younger adolescent refused to respond.

"Did someone beat you up?"

Peter remained silent.

"Is this a normal occurrence?"

No answer.

"Damn it, Peter, answer-!"

"Fuck, yes!"

Alfred stopped, his eyes growing wide as he did a double-take, "...What?"

"You wanted my answer, so there it is!" Peter's eyes remained firmly locked on his feet, refusing to glance up at Alfred's look of stupefaction.

"Which... which question were you answering...?"

 _All three_. The words were on the tip of his tongue, yet he dared not speak them. Instead, Peter let his silence do the talking.

And yet despite his recent uncharacteristic show of patience and observance (Peter had expected Alfred to be much, much more vocal about his dilemma), Alfred didn't seem to catch on, oblivious as he was.

"Well...?"

Peter opted to stay mute.

Alfred decided to take a different approach, "So you got beaten up-?"

"Fuck's sake, yes, I got beaten up!" Peter snapped, hugging the towel closer to his person. Alfred had the grace to look flabbergasted, before his eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly.

"Who did it?"

Peter didn't reply, glaring at the ground.

"Peter, who the fuck beat you up?"

It seemed that Alfred was close to losing his nerve.

"What do you care?" Peter spat at the ground, his eyes darkening slightly.

Alfred narrowed his own, "What do I care? Are you seriously fucking asking me that right now?"

"Yeah, I am." Peter regarded his brother with a steely gaze.

Alfred stared at him in kind, "I could get Mattie down here right now, wait for him to blab to Arthur, and watch as he rips you out for coming home late. But here I am, patiently waiting for you to explain yourself and maybe tell me what's wrong so I might be able to help... and possibly get you out of trouble." Alfred added as an afterthought.

Peter stared at him for a moment, before releasing a disbelieving scoff, "You won't be able to do jack shit."

"You can't know that."

"But I do."

Alfred glared at him, "Okay. I see. If you don't want to tell me, fine. Better just get Matt down here and-"

"Don't you dare." Peter interjected darkly, the caveat clear in his tone.

Alfred insisted, "Then tell me who did this to you."

"I don't know."

"How can you not know?!"

"I didn't see his face!"

It was partly true, in that he couldn't _remember_ his assailant's face.

"You mean this was a random attack?

Peter shrugged, glowering.

Alfred stared at him, his jaw set, before advising, "You have to go to the police."

"Are you _insane_?!" Peter seethed, "You really think they'll do anything?!"

Alfred hesitated slightly, before assuring, "It's their job to. The least they'll do is keep a lookout, and frankly, I'd be much happier with the knowledge that you were safer."

Peter shook his head incredulously, "You're an idiot."

"For looking out for you? Yes, what an idiot I am for caring about the fact that my brother got beaten up by some random creep."

Peter eyed him for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he noted, "Sarcasm doesn't suit you."

Alfred blinked.

"Besides," Peter continued before his brother could speak, "The cops wouldn't care. They're not going to be able to find a guy I can't even identify. Hell, I don't even know if it was just the one..."

Alfred's eyes all but bulged from his sockets, "You mean there're _more_?!"

"Maybe. I don't know," at Alfred's look of disbelief, Peter defended, "It was dark."

Alfred had, surprisingly, nothing to say to that. He merely stared, his eyes wide and unseeing, at Peter's swollen face. Peter watched as the older teen's hands subconsciously balled into fists upon his lap, and as his gaze hardened ever-so-slightly.

"So... I guess I should take a shower...?" Peter started, jerking his thumb in the living room's direction.

"Hmm?" Alfred hummed absent-mindedly, snapping out of his reverie, "Yeah, yeah, sure. Go ahead."

Peter arose from his seat, letting the towel slip off his shoulders as he did so. He left the living room, leaving the door ajar. Peter released an audible sigh, running a pallid hand over his face as he made his way towards the staircase.

 _Ding dong._

The macabre-like sound of the doorbell ringing stopped him in his tracks.

 _Ding dong ding dong ding dong._

Peter froze as the rings continued to condemn him, his lips pursing together to form a rigid line, watching out of the corner of his eyes as Alfred emerged from the living room.

The elder of the two brothers shot him an urgent look, "What are you waiting for? Get upstairs!"

Peter remained rooted to the spot, unable to so much as twitch in acknowledgement.

 _Ding dong ding dong ding dong ding dong ding dong ding dong!_

" _ **Now!**_ " Alfred hissed, prompting Peter to jolt forwards, clumsily stumbling up the stairs. He hid behind a wooden beam upon reaching the top of the staircase, effectively shielding him from view.

" _For Heaven's sake, Alfred, open the bloody door!_ "

Peter could hear Alfred react to the muffled, frustrated call, hurrying towards the door to unlock it.

No sooner than he had, than the sound of staggering reached Peter's ears as someone burst inside.

"God's sake, Alfred, the bloody hell took you so long?"

"I was making coffee..."

" _Coffee?_ "Peter could clearly make out the scorn in his father's tone, "Your brother's gone missing and you're making _coffee_?!"

"It calms my nerves..."

"You know what? I don't care," Peter waited with baited breath as his father continued bitterly, "You can make your stupid coffee and laze about while your brother is who-knows-where! See how your marvellous contribution helps find him!"

"Whoa, okay, okay, I get it, it was a bad idea to **make** coffee," Peter could barely discern Alfred's mumbles, "No need to bite my head off."

Arthur didn't seem to pay any attention, ignoring him completely, "I've been looking all over for that boy and there's not a single sign of him to be found! Not a single one, Alfred!"

"That sucks."

"' _That sucks_ '? _**That sucks**_?" Arthur echoed incredulously, "Your brother is fucking out there all by himself, and that's all you can think of to say?!" Peter heard Alfred's huff of indignation, but as usual, their father ignored him, "I swear, I am just about ready to call the police on this one-"

"What?" Alfred interjected, and Peter tensed up from his position above them, "Dad, you can't do that!"

"And why the bloody hell not?!"

Peter could all but feel Alfred's hesitation. _Damn it, Al,_ Peter thought frantically, his palms sweating as he mentally willed, _Say something, you idiot!_

"He's probably fine, and just doing what every teenager does. Everyone stays out late, it's completely natural."

Peter seemed to deem that an adequate response, and felt like he could kiss Alfred.

On the cheek, obviously.

Otherwise that would be incest.

Creeps.

His father, however, obviously did not share his sentiments, "It is most certainly **not** 'natural' for a 13-year old boy to stay out all night, Alfred!"

"Dad, Dad, relax. It's completely insane to think he's in danger just because he didn't come home tonight. He's most likely around his friends, that's all, and getting high on dope like everyone his age does."

Peter could quite honestly say that he withdrew his previous thoughts about Alfred, and had to bite his bottom lip in order to suppress a scream.

A snap, "Oh, and that's supposed to make me feel better, is it?!"

"Look, all I'm saying is that it's unlikely that he's in any danger- the hell?!"

"Do you see this?" Peter heard his father question, furrowing his eyebrows as he wondered what he could possibly be showing Alfred.

"Your watch...?"

"Very good, Alfred," Arthur complimented patronisingly, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "And do you see these little hands there, indicating at certain numbers?"

"Er... yeah, what-?"

"Those show the time. And do you see what time it is?"

"It's, uhm... half past three in the morning, right?"

Peter's eyes widened exponentially, his stomach dropping to the pit of his stomach.

"Correct. And do you feel that a child should be out so long?"

"I-"

"NO! Of course not! So shut the ruddy hell up and bring me my phone!"

"Dad, come on," Alfred implored, "The police don't need to be bothered with this-"

Peter suppressed a scoff at Alfred's hypocrisy.

"The hell they don't! It's their fucking job to be bothered with this! Hopefully, they can actually prove to be somewhat useful, unlike you!"  
"C'mon, Dad, be reasonable!"

"I _**am**_ reasonable!"

"We can't call the cops just cause Peter's late! Let's just try and look for 'im outside-"

"What the fuck do you think I've been doing all this time, Alfred?! You think I just went out in the fucking rain because I wanted to enjoy the fucking weather!?"

"No, but we could try harder. I could-"

"No." Arthur shot down.

"You're not even lis-"

"I said 'no'."

"But I could just go and get-"

" _Damn it_ , Alfred, I said ' **no'** , now get me my bloody phone!"

Silence.

Peter couldn't restrain himself from biting his nails, wondering what Alfred was going to do next. The most logical thing to do at this point would be to give in and throw Peter to the dogs.

Then again, Alfred wasn't the most logical person.

"Okay." came Alfred's subdued response as his footsteps sauntered off. Peter could hear his father release an aggravated, strangled noise and he stilled, his breaths emerging in inaudible wheezes.

It was only a matter of time before the sound of heavy footfalls returned.

"Dad... you can't seriously want to call the cops..?"

Peter heard something being snatched out of thin air.

"For fuck's sake, Alfred, would you just _drop it_?!" Peter flinched at his father's snarl.

Alfred had nothing to say to that.

A sigh, "I'm not calling the police. Not yet, at least. I'm just calling Matthew, so you can stop looking like you're going to piss yourself."

"Matt? Why...?"

"Because he's been out there trying to look for the damn brat! Which is more than can be said for you!"

Huh. So Alfred had lied about Matthew being here all along.

For an imbecile, he was quite the manipulative bastard.

Something changed within Alfred, however, for he suddenly appeared defensive, his voice low enough to be considered a growl, "You told me to stay home in case he found his way back."

Arthur snorted, "Yes. Well. We all know how that turned out, don't we?" before Alfred could say anything, Arthur continued, "Now if you'll excuse me, Alfred, I have a bloody phone call to make."

And that's when Peter heard his father's footsteps heading towards him.

His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.

Arthur took another step closer.

Peter's eyes enlarged.

And another step was taken.

The adolescent's teeth gritted together.

The creak of an unsteady step assured Peter that Arthur was still headed in his direction.

Fuck his life.

"Er- Dad? I don't think you should go up there..."

Arthur ignored his eldest son, and continued up until he reached the landing.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable outburst that was sure to come.

But it never did.

Peter could hear Arthur walk right past him, could feel the air whoosh by as he carried on. Peter, stunned that he didn't hear the characteristic bellow of fury from the man, peeled an eyelid back to see his father's head bowed, his eyes glued to his phone as he dialled his second son's number with utmost rapidity.

Peter couldn't believe his luck.

It didn't seem that Alfred could, either, for when the young adolescent turned his head to look down upon the older one, Alfred appeared thoroughly flabbergasted.

Peter saw his chance to escape and seized it; he threw a backwards glance at the distancing Arthur and leapt away from the bannister, only to silently make his way down the stairs, step by step.

Alfred's hand grazed his forearm upon his reaching the ground floor, giving Peter a light push towards the kitchen door, silently urging him to hurry up and find a hiding place.

Peter was only too happy to oblige, slyly entering the darkened kitchen, his eyes scanning the area for a proper place in which to hide.

It didn't take long for him to find one, and he was about to head towards it when a bellow cut him off.

" _What the bloody fuck, Alfred!?_ "

A groan, "What did I do now?"

"There's no damn credit in this stupid phone!"

"How is that _my_ fault?!"

"Because you _gave me_ a phone without any credit, you imbecile!"

Before Alfred got the chance to retort, the sound of footfalls pattering down the stairs reached Peter, and Arthur, unsuspecting, walked into the room.

He froze upon seeing Peter, who'd be more or less dry, if it weren't for his clothing.

"Peter."

The phlegmatic petition caused Peter to slowly turn on the spot, his hands awkwardly placed behind his back.

Peter's eyes widened to the size of saucers and his blood ran cold as he came face-to-face with a stark white man of average stature, a man with identical bushy eyebrows to him, a man who seemed completely devoid of all emotion, a cellphone in possession as he stared, unblinking, his eyes trailing up and down in a scrutinising manner, cold and calculating.

Peter could do nothing but stare back, his blue eyes locked in a staring competition with the man's green ones.

Arthur Kirkland stood there, his jaw clenched, his eyes never leaving his son's face.

And then his face contorted with rage.

"Where... where the **bloody** _hell_ have you been?!"

Peter's father demanded, his voice brimming with unsuppressed fury, his eyes suddenly alight with unconcealed anger as they all but bulged out of his sockets, his entire frame trembling slightly with rage.

Peter proved unable to conjure a response, merely stuttering like an invalid as he struggled to come up with the perfect excuse.

"I- I.. uhm-"

"I have been out there, looking for you, for hours, with not a single trace to be found! Not a single one!"

"I-"

"Do you have any idea how much worry you've caused Matthew, who, by the way, is still fucking out there looking for you!" at Peter's silence, Arthur snapped, "Well? Do you?!"

Peter hastily shook his head, his mouth agape as he struggled to come up with an answer.

"Where the fuck were you, Peter, huh? What the _**fuck**_ were you doing out there?!" the enraged snarl that escaped Arthur's lips was so animalistic that Peter couldn't refrain from flinching.

"I wasn't d-doing anyth-" Peter was cut off by a pale hand rapidly and harshly connecting with his right cheek. The sound the sharp slap emitted resonated across the room, and nearly sent the boy tumbling to the ground.

"Look at me, Peter," Arthur ordered, but Peter was too shocked by the blow he'd received to obey, "I said," Arthur grabbed Peter's chin and forced the boy to look at him, " _Look at me!_ "

Peter's blue eyes were wide with terror, and he stared into Arthur's green orbs, orbs filled with a passionate anger that Peter was sure would soon be unleashed on his person.

"I have wasted hours trying to find you, you pathetic little _brat_ , so much so that I was this close," Arthur raised his free hand and held up his thumb and forefinger an inch away from each other, "to calling the police. This close!" he barked, and Peter flinched yet again. He didn't know what it was, why he was acting like such a coward. He'd seen his father fly into a rage all too many a time, with Alfred usually bearing the brunt of his anger, but not quite like this. Not ever like this. For although Arthur hadn't yet raised his voice into a house-rattling bellow, the quiet danger of his words made themselves heard. And quite honestly, Peter, who had been through a traumatising experience that day, was scared shitless.

"You have no idea... no fucking clue..."

"I-I'm sorry..." Peter whimpered, immediately hating himself for sounding so pathetic.

"You're sorry? You're sorry?!" Arthur was positively quivering with fury at this point, "No, no, you're not sorry; but you will be. Oh, you will be, you little-!"

He moved to strike him again.

"Dad, no!" Alfred finally seemed to comprehend the severity of the situation, springing into action as he lurched forwards, "Stop it, just STOP!"

"This doesn't concern you, Alfred!" hissed Arthur, his grip on Peter's chin tightening.

"Of course it fucking concerns me, can't you fucking see that he's hurt?!" Alfred yelled, jerking his arm in the direction of Peter's face.

Arthur, however, seemed more preoccupied with Alfred's use of words than his injured youngest, "You do not fucking speak to me like that, Alfred. _Ever_. Do you hear?!"

Alfred said nothing, instead opting to glare at his father with utmost defiance.

"Go to your room, Alfred. Your job here is done."

It was all too clear by the acridness in Arthur's tone that he was absolutely livid that Alfred had seen it fit to refrain from telling him about Peter's arrival and not spared him a few minutes of frenzied worry.

Alfred remained silent, however did not acquiesce to his father's wishes.

"Alfred, I told you to go to your room."

Alfred didn't say a word, and Peter could tell that, for once, the sixteen-year-old was demonstrating an impressive display of self-restraint.

"Alfred, for fuck's sake, _just get out of my sight!_ "

"Not until you let him go." Alfred managed to grit out, much to the awe of his younger brother. See, Peter, in spite of himself, felt a little relieved that Alfred was taking his side- even though it wouldn't do much against the raging bull that was their father, he was glad for the small comfort. For small comfort though it undoubtedly was, it was comfort nonetheless, and a little was infinitely better than none.

But then, to Peter's immense surprise and to Alfred's shock, Arthur did just that, letting his arm flop back down at his side. The relief felt by both brothers, however, was not to last; Arthur immediately shattered their short-lived reprieve by turning on Alfred, seething, "Now, before I ask you again, fuck. Off."

Alfred appeared conflicted, as if actually debating his options for once- my, wasn't he just full of surprises today! Then, finally, the teenager reached a conclusion, "Let him go to bed and I'll leave-"

This, however, was apparently not what Arthur wanted to hear, for he boomed, "Dammit, Alfred, this is not up for discussion, get to your fucking room before I bloody-"

A clatter.

That was what managed to get Arthur to stop yelling; a clatter.

For Peter, with as much fear as carelessness, had made an attempt at fleeing from his elders before things escalated, accidentally leaning back against the isle and knocking over a metal pan. Truth be told, he'd rather selfishly hoped that Alfred would serve as the perfect ruse and that Arthur would unleash his pent up anger on him rather than on Peter. Although he'd felt a little guilty for this selfish wish, he maintained that it was for the best, as Peter would be too weak to face his father's anger that night.

At least Alfred wasn't defenceless.

There was no hiding Peter's escape attempt; one of the kitchen lights placed above the isle was on, and it almost gave the illusion that Peter, who had previously been engulfed by darkness, was positioned underneath a bright beacon of light, a spotlight of sorts, like the ones lighthouses had.

Both Arthur and Alfred stared, Alfred in silent confusion and Arthur still brimming with fury, although something in his expression had changed, as if a dark shadow had passed over it; Peter couldn't for the life of him discern what, for he'd never in his entire thirteen years of existence seen that look upon his father's face, but he knew that there was a difference, and that there was something so very, very wrong about that look. Peter almost wished that his father were still yelling, for that silent expression terrified him more than his anger ever could.

However, the mystery was solved almost instantly once Arthur stepped forth (or rather, _rushed_ forth), and the light gleaming down on his pallid face showed Peter something he never once imagined he'd ever see on his father's visage.

Horror.

Arthur Kirkland's face, though still contorted in fury, bore traces of horror, and although Peter was almost certain that he was still downright pissed at him, he had an uneasy inkling that the brunt of Arthur's anger was directed elsewhere.

"What... what in the..."

Alfred, too, looked ill at ease, and his own eyebrows knit together in worry again.

"What...- what the ruddy- what happened to you?" Arthur queried in an eerie voice, his anger still present yet less evident in his tone. He was now right in front of Peter, face-to-face, and his eyes were wide in disbelief.

Peter, shamefaced, glanced up slightly at his father, his sparkling orbs of blue alight with fear. He parted his lips to try and say something, but no noise would emerge from the gaping orifice.

"Who- how?" It appeared that Arthur was having trouble comprehending what had occurred, and he reached out to brush over a particularly nasty bruise on the left of Peter's cheekbone. Peter flinched away from his touch, trying to take a step back only to realise that he was already caught against the kitchen isle.

Arthur paused, blinking as he let his arm flop back down. It was hard to tell what was going on in that mind of his, for his face had entirely blanked over, and he gave no indication of his thoughts.

Quite suddenly, after a long interval of silence, Alfred spoke up, "Dad, I think Peter should go to bed. He's had a long day."

His father didn't say anything; he merely stared at his youngest, who subconsciously made himself look even more pitiful than he had before.

Just as Peter himself was going to slink away, Arthur demanded, "Who did this to you?"

Alfred stepped forth, touching Arthur's arm as he pleaded, "Dad, let him get some sleep. He's tired-it's what he needs."

Peter was honestly surprised at Alfred's behaviour; Alfred, idiotic and selfish Alfred (in spite of what he claimed), was actually sticking up for him with a certain level of maturity. Peter thought he'd never see the day...

After a few more moments of elongated silence, Arthur finally gave a terse inclination of his head, acquiescing, "We'll talk about this tomorrow. I need to call Matthew."

And then, he walked away from his sons, heading out of the kitchen as Alfred and Peter watched him go. The two brothers remained in quiescence, as Peter struggled to come up with a way of thanking him.

"I..." he started, his voice faltering when Alfred turned to look at him.

The elder brother flashed him a half-hearted smile, "Don't mention it. I'm going to bed; you should too."

And so, after a (very) light cuff to the back off the head, he too left Peter to his own devices, and Peter's eyes followed him until he disappeared out of sight. Standing alone for a while, Peter's thin lips twisted to form a small smile, and then, ever-so-quietly, he, too, trudged out of the kitchen, his exhaustion rapidly returning as relief seeped through his pores.

For little did Peter know that that would be the last time that Alfred ever stuck up for him.

Little did he know that it would be the last time his father cared.

And little did he know that the nightmare he'd long since endured was just beginning.


	2. The Morning After

**A/N: Happy _Last Day of 2015_ everybody! I know this is long overdue, and a bit short, but I really felt the need to update before the New Year, and I am so glad that I have accomplished that... even if it is the last day xD. Thank-you to all who have reviewed, favourited, or followed, and I hope that you all enjoy my treat to you on this 31st of December.**

* * *

 **Chapter Two- The Morning After**

Peter wasn't hungry the next morning.

His eyelids drooping over dulled orbs of blue, he heaved a breath and shuddered as it left him, his fingers toying with the silver spoon in hand. He was still adorned in his striped pyjamas, and he sat hunched over the kitchen table, his chin dipping into his bowl of cornflakes...

"Good morning, Peter." a soft voice startled the boy, but his reflexes were numbed by his evident exhaustion.

Peter slowly lifted his eyes to meet Matthew's gentle, yet worried gaze, and he groggily muttered a "Hey." in return.

"Someone's sleepy this morning." Matthew commented good-humouredly, heading for the fridge to prepare his own breakfast.

Peter did not reply, instead ducking his head further into his bowl.

It was not a moment later when Matthew took his seat at the table, placing a glass of orange juice and a plate of toast upon it as he did so. He'd long since spotted the margarine on the table, and began to butter his toast with utmost delicacy. He ate in relative silence, and were Peter fully awakened, he'd have found himself peeved by this quiescence. But he wasn't, and so he didn't, and thus he continued ignoring Matthew, whose chews were almost inaudible.

That is, up until Peter's face finally slipped and made contact with the contents of his bowl, almost knocking said bowl over and successfully spilling said contents all over the table.

Matthew sprang up from his seat immediately, and rushed over to pull the boy's face up.

"Jesus, Peter, are you alri-?"

Peter feebly batted his hands away, "I'm fine, I'm fine... 'm just tired."

"No kidding," Matthew breathed, reaching out to grab some kitchen paper before wiping the milk off of Peter's face, much to the boy's consternation, "Wha- what were you even doing out so late?"

"You mean you couldn't tell?" Peter questioned somewhat arrogantly in spite of his fatigue, and Matthew released a sigh as he drew away from his younger brother.

Silence.

Then, "I know you got into a fight, but... I didn't expect-"

"I didn't get into a fight." Peter interjected.

"Y-"

"I didn't." Peter reinforced, ducking slightly so as to shield his eyes from Matthew's gaze.

Confusion flashed across Matthew's face, "But then-"

"I wasn't in a fight, I was be- I was beaten up." Peter tore his eyes away in shame.

Matthew stared at him awkwardly, forming an uneasy expression, "Well... yes, but... you got into a fight, and then got beaten up... right?"

Peter's eyes flashed, "I didn't get into a fight," he repeated for the umpteenth time, "I was jumped on."

"J-jumped on?" Matthew seemed to have had some difficulty with the horrified utterance.

Peter averted his gaze once more.

Another uneasy silence settled upon the two.

"Peter. Peter, I-" Matthew paused, closing his eyes before proceeding, "I'm sorry. I just- I assumed that- well..." a sigh, "I'm sorry."

Peter merely glared up at him.

"I thought you were filled in on what happened... "

"I was, but-" Matthew halted when he noticed the unnerved expression on the boy's face. "Well. I guess I would have found out eventually." he murmured, hoping to alleviate the boy's obvious embarrassment. When he noticed that his words did nothing to help, his eyes fixed on a particularly sore bruise on the side of the boy's face. He silently pondered for a moment, before advising, "You should get some cream on that."

"What?" Peter shot him a look of confusion, put off by the sudden change of subject, before taking note of Matthew's line of sight and raising a hand to linger over the largest bruise, "Oh. I... already did."

"Hmm," hummed Matthew disbelievingly, "Well, it looks like it might need to be reapplied. Wait here a moment."

Peter watched as Matthew departed, before looking down at the pool of milk before him, and at his soaked pyjama bottoms. He'd probably have been so pissed were he not so tired.

Matthew came back soon enough, tube in hand, and, kneeling slightly before his younger brother, opened the cap and squeezed a dot of cream onto his forefinger before applying it with gentle, brushing motions.

Peter let him do it wordlessly, a fact which Matthew did not fail to discern, and even closed his eyes as the soothing brushes of Matthew's finger lulled him to sleep.

"You know," Matthew began to speak, much to Peter's dismay, "I think you should stay home today. Take the day off. Get some rest." Matthew paused, before adding as an afterthought, "Play video games."

Peter released a huff of amusement, "If only."

Matthew halted for a moment, "What do you mean, 'if only'?"

"Come on," Peter sighed, "You know Dad would never let me skive."

"It isn't skiving if you're injured," Matthew insisted, "Besides," his voice softened, "You don't know how angry Dad was this morning."

"I know how angry he was last night, though, and that's enough for me."

Partly relieved, Matthew recommenced applying the lotion, "Then you'll know that he isn't happy at all with what happened."

"Yeah, no shit. He completely laid into me. He blames me for staying out and worrying you or something."

"That's not true," Matthew stated obstinately, "You can't honestly believe that. When I came back last night, I found him with a bottle of whiskey in the living room."

"Yeah, because _that's_ a rarity."

"Peter..."

"Fine, but- how exactly does him drinking prove that he... that he _cared_?" Peter grimaced as if it physically pained him to speak such a word.

" _Cared_? Peter, he was so worried- worried about _you_. If only you'd seen him- I've never seen him in such a state before."

Recalling something, Peter questioned, "What, with a bottle of whiskey?"

"No, but..." Matthew smiled for a brief moment, before growing serious once more, "He wouldn't stop pacing."

"Pacing?"

"Pacing." Matthew reaffirmed.

Peter frowned, his eyes still closed, "That's odd. Usually he just curls up on his armchair with beer or something and cries like a little baby."

"Peter."

"What? It's true."

"No it isn't," Matthew denied, a smirk toying at the corners of his lips, "Because he _slumps_ in his armchair with _whiskey_ and cries like a little baby."

Peter snorted in laughter, "Yeah, well, same difference."

Matthew gave a roll of his eyes, "Right. In any case... I think it's safe to say that you're staying home today."

"Good luck convincing Dad of that."

"I don't need to," Matthew dabbed at the side of Peter's face, "Because he isn't here."

Peter finally snapped his eyes open, "What?"

"He left for work early today, and he didn't tell me or Alfred to take you to school. Thus, you're not going."

"Yeah, he probably didn't tell you cause he expects you to do it anyway."

"You and I both know that when Dad wants something done, he'll tell us, Peter."

Peter seemed dubious, but seemed to have no wish for argument.

"All done." Matthew announced, adding the last finishing touches before standing upright, screwing the cap back onto the tube. He glanced at the mess on the table and, sighing, set about searching for the sponge. Once found, it was used for non-intensive scrubbing, as Matthew merely dabbed it on the milk in a fluctuating motion. Peter watched him do it silently, frowning.

Neither were aware of the incoming footsteps.

"Mornin' Shortstuff,-"

" _What did you just ca_ -"

"-Mornin' Mattie," Matthew jerked violently at the booming voice, "heh, made ya flinch."

Matthew glared, "Could you not? I'm trying to clean something here..."

"Yeah, I noticed," Alfred grabbed a slice of Matthew's toast as he passed by, biting into it before making a disgusted noise, "Eww, this isn't budder!"

"It's margarine," Matthew glanced up, narrowing his eyes, "And give me that!" he swiped the piece of toast from Alfred's hands.

"The hell, Mattie?!"

"If you want some, make your own."

Alfred gave a rapid scope of his surroundings, "There's no more bread left."

"Look in the bread storage, then."

Alfred did as was asked, whining at the absence of food, "There's nothing there!"

"Then deal."

Alfred whipped his head around to childishly blow a raspberry at his younger brother, before his eyes befell the milk, "Maaaaaaaaaatthew, what did you dooo?"

Matthew huffed in annoyance, "If you must know, _Peter_ had a little accident-" Matthew ignored Peter's indignant glare and Alfred's snort of laughter, "-and almost fell asleep on his cereal."

Alfred puffed in amusement, "Nice one, Petey."

"Shut up, Alfred."

Alfred chuckled darkly, tearing his gaze from Peter to Matthew as he noticed Matthew trying to scrape some milk and cereal into his upturned and curved palm. Alfred spotted the lone toast set aside and, licking his lips, set forth to make a grab for it. In doing so, he bumped into Matthew, who recoiled sharply at the unexpected contact, and dropped the contents of his palm.

" _Alfred!_ "

Alfred, toast in hand, whirled around to see the miniature puddle of milk on the floor, "Oops."

Matthew snapped his head up, pointing at the small, aforementioned puddle, "Clean that up."

"Hell no."

" _Alfred._ "

"What? You dropped it!"

"Only because you made me!"

"Oh, come on, Matthew, there's no use crying over spilt milk!" Alfred paused to garner Matthew's lacklustre reaction, which was the quintessence of unamused, "Get it? Cause of the expression and you actually spilt mi-"

"We got it, Alfred, _thank-you_." Matthew notified none-too-gently before bending over in resignation to wipe the floor.

"Okay, testy," Alfred took a bite into Matthew's toast once more, "What crawled up your ass and died?"

Huffing in aggravation, Matthew informed, "In case you didn't know, our brother here just got beaten up, so forgive me if I'm not in the playing mood."

Peter uncomfortably edged back in his chair at the two pairs of eyes that fixed themselves on him.

"Oh..." Alfred blinked, glancing back down at the toast in his hand, "Yeah..."

Matthew shook his head at his elder brother before redirecting his attention to the task at hand.

"So..." Alfred stepped in Peter's direction, "How you feelin'?"

"What do you think?" came the rather bratty response.

"Yeah, that... was an admittedly stupid question." Alfred gave a nervous little laugh, and paused for a moment. "So, you... you goin' to school today or what?"

"I dunno." Peter answered just as Matthew piped up, "No."

Alfred's eyes flickered in Matthew's direction before focusing back on Peter.

"Well... at least you get to skip, right?"

Peter felt oddly queasy, and didn't answer for a while. It _was_ something to take into account- at least he _did_ get to skip school.

Even if it was only for one day.

"I think I need the toilet." Peter's abrupt announcement startled both Alfred and Matthew, and the youngest arose from his seat to leave the room.

"Oh... okay. Better out than in, right? Hah." Alfred gave an awkward hark as Peter proceeded out of the kitchen. No sooner than he was out of earshot, than a hand grabbed his arm, and Alfred turned to find a newly-upright Matthew clenching his triceps.

"What do you think you're doing?" Matthew whispered so lowly that it could be considered a hiss.

"What?" Alfred hissed back, his smile gone from his face.

"He just got over a frightening ordeal and you're... bombarding him with weird questions!"

"I only asked him how he felt-"

"Well, I can tell you for a fact that you're making him uncomfortable!"

Alfred's eyes widened, before narrowing slightly, "Well excuse me for caring about how he feels-"

"Caring? Alfred, this is the first time you've shown him a _grain_ of sympathy, and you're acting all awkward about it- he clearly doesn't want to talk, so don't try and force him to!"

"Okay, first of all, what you said was a bunch of bullshit, and secondly, he _has_ to talk about it, and if not to me, then to someone else!"

"Peter doesn't have to do anything but rest and recuperate, what you're doing is putting him more ill at ease than before, and quite frankly, he's under enough stress as it is, so don't try and make light of his situation-"

"I'm not, _you're_ the one who's acting like your favourite puppy just died and dampening the moo-"

"Wh- what the hell are you on about?"

"I'm talking about that- that thing back there! I mean what, are you trying to give the kid depression?"

"I'm not- I- let me remind you that _you_ ignored him when you came in and began acting like an immature, idiotic buffoon, although in all honestly, I doubt you ever stop!"

Alfred appeared genuinely surprised for a moment, before launching an attack of his own, "You know what, Matthew? Fuck you. At least I'm not being a mopey little bitch and keep reminding him that he's supposed to be sad and depressed-"

"Alfred, he got beaten up _yesterday_ , it's hard _not to_ be upset, and I'm sure he doesn't need _me_ to 'remind' him to feel shitty about it-"

"Maybe so, but you certainly aren't helping! If anything, your emo mood is going to affect him negatively- he doesn't need someone to act like they've suffered through the same thing, he needs someone to make him feel better, and you're not doing that!"

"Oh? And I suppose _you_ are?"

"Well I'm trying," Alfred seethed, "And before you came back, I was actually getting somewhere by _talking_ to him- because he _does_ want to talk, hell, he **needs** to let it all out, but it's you who's holding him back by implying that he needs to keep it inside or some shit-"

" _Me?_ How am _I_ -"

"Oh, _can it_ , you just want him to keep it all bottled up and to become as introverted as you!"

" _What-_ "

"You don't want him to talk about it because you think it'll be 'damaging' and that he's 'not ready', but what you don't get is that you're suppressing the very thing he needs to let out, and he needs to tell someone how he truly feels or... or..."

Glaring, Matthew prompted, "Or what..?"

Alfred's eyes vehemently flickered up to meet his brother's, "Or he'll become just like you."

Silence.

It seemed to take a while for his words to register in Matthew's mind, and when they finally did, Mathew's response was none the different. He seemed unable to come up with a verbal reply, or demand an explanation- because in a way, he had always known what Alfred thought of him.

It was just so much harder to respond to that once his thoughts had been vocalised.

Finally, though, Peter returned to a staunch silence and a taut ambiance, as the air around the elder two seemed more terse than ever.

Unsure as to how to react, Peter silently tread back to his chair just as Alfred broke his intense glaring match with Matthew.

He looked to Peter, and asked, "You better now?"

Blinking, Peter answered, "... Yeah?"

Alfred nodded in acknowledgement, before declaring aloud, "I'm going to bed." and he turned to leave.

It was at this that Matthew snapped out of his reverie, "You can't, you have school today-!"

" _Fuck school_."

"But you said you'd go agai-"

" _Shut up, Matthew._ " was his harsh response, and Matthew could only stare at Alfred's departing form.

He stood there for a good long while, sighing only once the now-fully awakened Peter cleared his bowl from the table.

"Back to bed, then?" Matthew commented off-handedly as Peter headed out the doorway.

"Actually, I'm not that tired anymore. I'm going on the playstation."

"... Right."

And so Matthew was left to get ready to school on his own, and as he buckled into his car he could not but wonder what Arthur's reaction to Alfred's increasingly sloth-like behaviour would be, and what he would think of his continual skiving...

 **A/N: … I know you're probably not satisfied (I know I'm not), and I know this does little to advance the plot, but this scene just randomly popped in my mind, and I needed to update before the new year... yeah. Anyway, I intend to update the next, much more eventful and plot-advancing chapter sooner, and I bid you all a very HAPPY NEW YEAR 2016! Best wishes to all~! :D**


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